


the compromise

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, honeypot entrapment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn't talk politics with me," Napoleon said.</p>
<p>Sanders snorted. "And he hasn't turned you."</p>
<p>"Well, I haven't turned him either. Gentlemen's agreement."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shayheyred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Компромисс](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848815) by [Zlatatsvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zlatatsvet/pseuds/Zlatatsvet)



There was an envelope under the hotel room door in Liverpool. Napoleon picked it up.

_Mr Jones_ , it said. No period – either someone from the Commonwealth, he thought, or an American posing as one – and addressed to the name associated with his current documents. He took it inside instead of opening it there in the hallway, where it could be acting as a distraction.

It had been sealed. He fingered at the sides and faces of the envelope. Just paper inside, by the feel of it, but he went and put on gloves anyway, from his bag, and opened it with a letter-opener helpfully provided by the hotel.

A piece of paper. Ah. Sanders' handwriting, instead of some nameless secretary's. He unfolded it. The paper contained an address in Lyon, his and Illya's next destination, and a time. No signature, but he recognized the hand, unless it had been forged, which wasn't entirely unlikely.

He burned it using his cigarette lighter. He'd been with UNCLE for five months now, but it wasn't technically yet a full transfer, and Sanders was still technically his handler. Not going would have been – well. He'd go.

 

It wasn't Sanders waiting for him, so he skipped out before he could be noticed. They looked like CIA, but he didn't want to take any risks.

There was another note, with a different address in the city, at his hotel later that night. That one, Sanders was at, so he showed up.

"Tell me about UNCLE," Sanders said. 

"You know what their mandate is, sir," Napoleon said, straightening his legs in the chair. "I haven't seen anything to indicate they're doing anything other than exactly that."

"Even though they're working with – " Sanders jerked a shoulder in that way that he did when he meant _The Red Menace_ or _Those Commie Bastards_ or _Fucking Pinkos_. Napoleon was tempted to point out that as far as any existing evidence indicated, not a single Soviet spy had the ability to hear his nation being spoken of outside of his hearing.

"I've found Kuryakin to be a decent kind of guy," he said. "His head's like a corkscrew – his mother was a prostitute for a while, very sad story – but he's good in a fight, and he doesn't talk politics with me."

Sanders snorted. "And he hasn't turned you."

"Well, I haven't turned him either," Napoleon said. "Gentlemen's agreement. It seems like both the CIA and the Soviets are testing UNCLE out. Seemed bad form to ruin a decent organization just because you're working with the other side."

"I'm telling you to change that," Sanders said. His mouth twisted, and Napoleon's stomach dropped. This was – he knew exactly where this was going. He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to remember the exhilaration of working with Illya, in Rome and in Istanbul and in Berlin, later; in Springfield and in Stockholm. Illya was the closest thing Napoleon had to a best friend these days.

"How?"

"He doesn't have anything we can use to blackmail him yet, but there are unconfirmed rumors that he's a homosexual."

God _damn_ it. 

"We don't talk about that, either," Napoleon said. 

"Don't be coy, Solo, you know what I'm telling you to do," Sanders said.

"Sorry, you gotta spell it out for me. Do you want me to find him having sex with someone and blackmail him?"

"Your orders are," Sanders said, very clearly, and very low, "for you to get him to sleep with you, and get evidence of it, so that we can blackmail him into passing us information."

There, it had been said. It only hurt a little.

"Isn't that more the KGB's line?"

"He hasn't seemed interested in money or life in the West," Sanders said.

"He might try to use it against me," Napoleon said. "If he sees through it."

"We already know you like sucking cock," Sanders said. "I don't think the KGB knows he does."

Napoleon bit his tongue, angry, powerless against it. "I don't know that he does."

"You'll find out, then, won't you?" Sanders said. 

 

Illya was in Napoleon's hotel room when Napoleon got back, sitting on the bed.

"You were with your CIA handler," he said, quite casually, and Napoleon grunted an agreement. "What does he want you to do?"

"They think you'll feed me information from the KGB if I work at you enough," Napoleon said, because even thinking _they want me to execute a honeypot snare against you_ made him feel unclean. He took his jacket off and hung it up.

"I know nothing from the KGB anymore," Illya said. "You know nothing about CIA operations because they are afraid you will be compromised. It would be pointless."

"Is that what you told the Major?"

Illya snorted. "The Major is less stupid than Sanders." 

"Mm." Napoleon hung up his tie and went for the buttons on his shirt cuffs. "Did you have me bugged?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Illya said, which meant yes, so at least Napoleon was spared the indignity of having to eventually tell him what Sanders had demanded.

Napoleon took off his shirt, but kept his undershirt on, and went to sit down in the desk chair. 

"You didn't tell them about me," Illya said finally.

"No. You're my friend."

"A dangerous secret," Illya said, with a litle curl of his mouth.

Napoleon tried not to smile; it mostly worked. "I couldn't possibly persuade you to defect."

"Not for love or money." Damn, Illya was good at doing that with a straight face.

"Are you sure?"

"Very," Illya said, standing. "I picked the bugs up," he added, leaning over Napoleon in the chair. "In the hall and both our rooms. And a few of the employees who were on one payroll or another."

"How many was it this time?"

"Six bugs – both our sides," Illya said, putting his hands on the chair arms. "Three employees. One yours, one mine, one French." 

"That was thorough."

"If I'm going to let myself be seduced by an American, I wouldn't want anyone to have evidence to blackmail me with," Illya said, and Napoleon leaned up so Illya could kiss him.


End file.
